


Submission (Going Down, Down)

by ddeadkennedys



Series: the revolution is my boyfriend [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alley Sex, Alternate Universe - Punk, Bottom Grantaire, Enjolras Was A Charming Young Man Who Was Capable Of Being Terrible, Foreshadowing, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Overstimulation, Praise Kink, Public Hand Jobs, Rough Oral Sex, Spit Kink, Top Enjolras, Under-negotiated Kink, by which i mean grantaire doesn't know how to ask and enjolras is far too sure of himself, the lower case is intentional
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:14:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24101917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ddeadkennedys/pseuds/ddeadkennedys
Summary: anyway, enjolras hated grantaire at first. enjolras isn't an asshole, he's not a gatekeeper or some sort of shitty elitist, but grantaire was uninspired, hopeless despite all that potential. a waste. but then that whole thing went down, and shit changed, and if grantaire thought he couldn't get enough of enjolras' attention before, now that enj is only mean to him for fun he's a fucking junkie for it.-title taken from Submission by Sex Pistols
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Series: the revolution is my boyfriend [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1738942
Comments: 15
Kudos: 62





	Submission (Going Down, Down)

**Author's Note:**

> howdy friends! 
> 
> this is the first installment of my series The Revolution is My Boyfriend, which will contain five parts (that i've planned so far). TRIMB is meant to be read as a singular story with multiple volumes, each part containing a defining moment in E + R's relationship. 
> 
> enjoy, and make sure to check out the second installment, Nazi Punks Fuck Off, which is out now!

the whiskey is burning especially hot tonight, and grantaire's heart is pounding in time to the insane drum beat slamming through the bar, which even sort of renders his own thoughts partially inaudible while he tries to discern how exactly he ended up here. 

eponine and her goddamn riotgrl bullshit, honestly. this is totally not his scene– grantaire is honestly more of a skater, and he doesn't even really hang with the political skaters, of which there are many. mostly, he likes smoking weed, and playing the guitar, and making weird drawings for his classes. 

this is totally not his scene. this is political aliens in crust pants and liberty spikes wearing vegan leather and getting into bar fights, music so loud you can barely see and dive bars so dim you can't even hear who you're flirting with. grantaire is more of a front bottoms guy, and everyone here is just so dead kennedys. but even though he feels out of place, these punks can hang, and so he stays. always willing to bum cigs and follow the instagram he has dedicated to his art, he'd made some pretty cool friends in the time he spent unwillingly hanging around these bars to support eponine's angst. if pressed, he might admit he's lying. if pressed, he might even tell you that there's one reason he actually hangs around, and it's sure as fuck not eponine's shitty band. 

it's enjolras, of course. 

enjolras is a pretty fucking scary dude, sort of. handsome as fuck and always charming, and a little less loudmouthed than most of the people who hang around here. he's tall and tattooed, and he's kind of evil, in the way where he can make you do just about anything, just because you want to make him happy. grantaire spends a lot of time wondering if he does it on purpose– there is something about enjolras that just makes you want to impress him, and his self-awareness of the matter is questionable. he can usually be found sucking on a cigarette while scrolling through twitter, or distributing zines, or hanging up flyers, or quietly radicalizing just about everyone he meets with common sense and pretty words and his bright white smile. in the daytime he does nothing but work, so at night he hits the scene, shows his face at the bars and music venues that his friends frequent. he's friends with everyone. everyone knows enjolras. 

(a million years ago, being a revolutionary and having morals made you a eunuch. now it means you wear crust pants and punch nazis. things change. enjolras is the most modern martyr there is, with all that charm and sarcasm and leather and metal. it's a good idea to be friends with the guy who has 'nazi punks fuck off' tattooed on his body, y'know?)

anyway, enjolras hated grantaire at first. enjolras isn't an asshole, he's not a gatekeeper or some sort of shitty elitist, but grantaire was uninspired, hopeless despite all that potential. a waste. but then that whole thing went down, and shit changed, and if grantaire thought he couldn't get enough of enjolras' attention before, now that enj is only mean to him for fun he's a fucking junkie for it.

so, grantaire is back for yet another night of listening to eponine scream while enjolras says mean things to him, and says them so tenderly. 

"come outside," says enjolras, completely inaudibly. 

"what?" grantaire calls back. he's tipsy from the whiskey, cheeks all rosy, and he wants a cigarette. without waiting for an answer he adds, "do you wanna go smoke?" and then again without waiting for an answer he grabs enjolras' hand and starts pulling him to the back door. 

"glad we're on the same page," enjolras says. he says it at full volume, but it's really to himself, because grantaire would never be able to hear. it's not cold out in the alley, but inside it was so hot and sticky and close that even the warm spring night is a relief. out here it's even darker though, and their faces only illuminate for a second each while they light cigarettes. in the darkness, both of them backlit by the signs and streetlights out by the sidewalk, enjolras is still handsome, his profile noble and the tilt of his head betrays his smile. 

"i haven't seen you in a while," grantaire tells him. his stomach is fluttering, and he already feels like an idiot. this crush is awful. he always makes a fucking fool out of himself. 

when enjolras replies he does it in that same tone he always uses, mocking and sweet all at once, pulling pigtails on the playground. "yeah, well, i've been working a lot lately. making money to survive, you know how it is. why? you miss me?" 

like an idiot, grantaire blushes up to his ears, down to his neck. 

"aa–, well–, I–, I'm-"

"yeah, you did. i know you did," enjolras bulldozes right over him, poking just a little harder. at the same time, he steps forward and crowds grantaire up against the bricks. it sends a thrill through him, makes him gasp, and then giggle wildly, when his back hits the wall.

"everyone knows i have a crush on you," grantaire says, tipsy and uninhibited. "you can't be surprised. you could probably spit on me and i'd thank you."

perhaps this is a lesson about being a loudmouth, or a case of the universe rewarding the bold, because that's exactly what Enjolras does.

"you mean that, kid?" he asks with Grantaire cornered up against the wall, and he laughs a stream of cigarette smoke into the air. the answer is obvious, so by the time grantaire speaks, enjolras is already reaching up with one hand to take his jaw in hand, turn his face up to make eye contact.

"yeah, i like you so much. it's ridi–" grantaire's mouth must be a second behind his brain because he already knows when he starts to speak. he knows it's coming, the realization hitting him a split second before enjolras spits right in his face. 

it's disgusting, warm and thick and moist. when it hits his skin it cools almost immediately, and some of it lands on his lips, and it goes straight to his dick; it's intimate, an awful portrait of the sweetest kiss. grantaire gasps, and then he moans, and his knees go weak and his weight drops back even further against the bricks. he can feel his skin get warm, and for a moment his eyes are visible in the headlights of a passing car, wide and glassy and hungry. 

"fuck," he says, breathless. he doesn't know what, but he sure is begging for something. 

enjolras laughs again, and he keeps talking like nothing happened. "i missed you too, R. tell me more about this crush." grantaire is about to answer him, but he doesn't get a word out before he's interrupted again, immediately. "ah, hold on. didn't you tell me you'd say thank me? i'm not hearing any appreciation for the gift i just gave you."

again, grantaire shakes out an uncontrollable laugh. enjolras makes his head spin, makes him feel mad. he's in freefall, pushed over the edge and every time, whether it's flirting with him in this wild way that threatens to tip the balance between fun and danger, or saving his fucking ass like that one time, enjolras catches him. grantaire is addicted to the rush of him. 

"thank you," he says obediently, and he's breathing sort of shallowly in all this excitement. 

"s'better, keep going." 

"um, anyway. of course i have a crush on you. you're hot, and, um." he says. he has a lot more to say– he could probably wax poetic about enjolras for hours, no matter how hard he tried to claim that he hadn't caught feelings. but he cuts himself off, because enj is looming close to his face, and the hand that had grabbed his face just a few minutes before was now between them, gently cupping the half chub grantaire was rocking in his stupid khaki chino pants, the palm of his hand grazing against grantaire just enough to make his knees weak all over again. 

"and what?" enjolras asks, his voice all quiet and close, breath fanning across grantaire's ear. 

"and, um. crazy." grantaire is giggling again, jittery, and enjolras laughs too. their cigarettes fell to the wet pavement at some point, and grantaire can only focus on enj's body heat. 

enjolras murmurs something to make grantaire turn his face, and then he kisses him. grantaire is surprised– this is the first time he's ever felt fireworks in his life, and dimly he wonders if it's who he's kissing or if it's the fact that his head just bounced off the wall. it doesn't really matter, not when enjolras is kissing him so sternly, slick and firm just the way he speaks, with no room to argue. grantaire can't help the way he moans, the way he grabs at him and clenches into fists on the fabric of his t-shirt. enjolras uses his broad body to press him into the wall, and he feels like he has no choice, and he loves it. he thinks he might let enjolras do anything to him, and he wants to so badly, wants to let himself be destroyed. 

despite these desires grantaire is actually not thinking in this moment. his head is practically an echo chamber, just three marbles rolling around in there while his body reacts based on impulse alone. the only thing he's aware of is enjolras and his tongue and the hand he has on the bulge in his pants. at this point, a new sensation is introduced, and it's enjolras' other hand around his fucking throat. grantaire's gasp is aborted when his grip tightens, and then enjolras grabs his dick through his pants for real, and he makes a ridiculous mewling sound.

"oh my god, you're so mean," he pants, whiny, his body jerking against enjolras', who laughs again, laughs at him, and tightens the grip he has on his throat.

"it makes your dick twitch. open your mouth."

obediently, grantaire's dick twitches and he opens his mouth, and he even sticks his tongue out because he's so eager to please. he's kind of lightheaded– he's pretty sure it's because all of the blood in his body is rushing to his dick at speeds that are unheard of in humans, or maybe because enjolras is squeezing on the blood vessels in his neck with cruel precision, but there's a romantic part of him that wants to believe that the passion is simply too much for him to handle. his heart is pounding, and he's pretty sure that he's never had butterflies for anyone but enjolras. 

enjolras spits on him again, this time directly in his mouth. 

grantaire makes a guttural noise of gratification, and his hips jerk hard. he swallows it, like a good boy. desperately, he wants to be a good boy. "please," he whines. he's begging for anything he can get in the fraction of a second between swallowing and kissing and the slick mess on his face, and enjolras gives it to him, undoes his fly and reaches into his pants. "please, please," it falls out of his mouth like he can't stop it. 

enjolras stops it for him. "shut up, R," he says, and squeezes down tighter on the sides of his throat. R gets so dizzy that all he can do is laugh, breathless and high on oxygen deprivation and adrenaline, while enjolras licks into his open mouth and squeezes at his cock, tears him apart brick by brick with skillful hands. those hands don't waste a motion or spare a moment for gentility and it renders grantaire absolutely braindead, leaves him squirming and helpless. a path of wet kisses from the corner of his mouth to his temple puts enjolras' voice back in his ear. "you're kind of pathetic, y'know?" he says. it's so easy to be cruel to grantaire like this, with how he begs for it. "i think it's funny to torment you, and here you are, getting off on it. that's pretty gross." 

"please," grantaire whimpers again, head all dizzy with pleasure and desperation, instead of saying anything relevant. he's helpless to the velvet voice that pours from enjolras' mouth where it's pressed against his hair, and all he can do is beg and grab at him, mindless. "please, please, i'm gonna, i wanna–" 

enjolras cuts him off again with his grip on his throat, squeezing down on him until the words die in his chest while he pumps his hand around grantaire's cock rhythmically, faster and harder, while he twists his wrist just so and swipes his thumb across his slit, while he does everything he can to make it feel so good it hurts. grantaire practically can't take it already, and his orgasm overtakes him brutally, makes his whole body twitch and tighten as a strangled, sobbing moan forces out of his throat. diabolically, enjolras doesn't seem to be stopping. he strokes grantaire until his moans are broken and desperate and small, until his eyes are rolling back, until he seems to be trying to struggle his way through the brick wall behind him to get away from the overstimulation. he is quickly finding that it's useless to try and bat enjolras away from him and it thrills him, leaves his heart pounding. grantaire just can't get a break, though, because then enjolras is speaking again.

"you want me to stop, huh? it hurts?" he taunts, while grantaire's eyes well up with tears beneath him. 

fuck, he's so pretty like this, and enjolras interrupts himself to kiss him because he can't help it. his desire for grantaire walks a tight-rope made of fucking fishing line at this point. he doesn't know where wanting to destroy him and wanting to keep him safe overlap or coincide or how he can reconcile any of it, how he can explain to him that he's only mean because it makes grantaire giggle and turn such a pretty shade of red. it doesn't matter right now though, because he's about to get his dick sucked.

"get on your knees and make yourself useful." 

and, really, who is grantaire to argue with a thing like that? boneless, he sinks down to the asphalt, and he's high enough on all of this that the stinging in his knees doesn't register to him. he wants to tear enjolras' pants open, but enjolras is wearing two belts, so he undoes those with shaking hands and then pushes those skintight pants down around his thighs. 

at that moment, the back door opens again, and then shuts immediately, presumably because enjolras (who, again, everyone knows) has his hands buried in someone's hair and is grinding his hips against someone's face. 

grantaire doesn't bother to stop, to hesitate, just presses his hot, open mouth against the bulge in enjolras' boxers before he pulls them down. when enjolras' cock springs free, grantaire wants to imagine that it's pretty and pink and beautiful. in reality, it's dark, and he can't see anything except the shape of it, and it's perfect. it's not insane, it's not some hot porno shit, but it's long and thick enough that grantaire's jaw is already aching when he gets his mouth past the tip. 

this, grantaire has some confidence in. he knows he's good at this, knows he can make enjolras shake apart just the way he had. there are hands in his hair, one tightened into a fist and the other scratching gently at the back of his scalp, and grantaire is doing every trick he's ever learned. his cheeks are hollow and his hands are gripping at enjolras' thighs (which are firm and flex beneath his touch), and when he pulls away and spits on it he earns a moan that makes his stomach flutter. 

"good boy," enjolras says, and grantaire's dick twitches with interest despite the overstimulation he'd just suffered through. 

so he gets back to work, takes it back into his mouth and lets his jaw relax, and pushes down and down and down until he has to breathe carefully through his nose, until his stomach shifts uncomfortably, until all he can feel is the smell of enjolras surrounding him. enjolras is pushing at the back of his head, but he doesn't need to be– grantaire would stay here as long as he could stand, if he were allowed. instead, he swallows around enjolras' dick, and hums, and then enjolras is rolling his hips forward. blessedly, he is gentle at first, slow and then not so slow, building pace and force until once again grantaire can do nothing more but grip at him and lean back against the wall with his mouth open. 

grantaire is being so good, and he knows it, because enjolras is groaning above him, making noises that rumble from his chest and then his throat. when enjolras loses his rhythm and his moans rise in pitch, grantaire prepares himself. 

when it happens, enjolras fists both hands in his hair and keeps him there. grantaire swallows it all dutifully, easily, and then pulls away with a pop and sinks off of his knees, which take this opportunity to begin to burn. 

"you good?" enjolras asks, and he's concerned for real, worried at the way that grantaire gasps for breath and wipes his sloppy mouth with the back of his hand, worried that it all might be too much, too far. 

grantaire laughs. "i'm good," he says, and he reaches out and pushes enjolras' pants back up for him. 

"good," enjolras says, and hauls him to his feet. a few moments of fumbling in silence and they've both arranged their clothes, and he leans in to press a deep kiss to grantaire's mouth, to taste himself, and gets a moan and an open, wet mouth in return. 

"let me take you home," he murmurs, and it's not an order but a request. grantaire wants nothing more. 

"okay."


End file.
